


These Scars Have Left an Echo

by DroppedAllTheseOreos



Category: Kamen Rider Ex-Aid
Genre: Castlevania AU, M/M, Unnamed appearances of Emu Hiiro Taiga and Nico
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-12 00:17:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19936897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DroppedAllTheseOreos/pseuds/DroppedAllTheseOreos
Summary: Dracula is fated to an endless cycle of death at the hands of heroes wielding the legendary whip Vampire Killer, and rebirth by evil humans seeking the powers of a dark lord. As another band of adventurers come to fight him, he remembers a human he lost.





	These Scars Have Left an Echo

**Author's Note:**

> The Halloween Special of the Adventure Zone: here is my absolute favorite episode and after listening to it for like the fifth time I got the inspiration for this fic.
> 
> This is way more serious than the Adventure Zone episode, and it mainly just inspired the last paragraph of this fic since I've never played Symphony of the Night and Griffin's delivery of "What is a man?" really got me haha. Also sorry if this doesn't feel like an Ex-Aid fic because I barely use anyone's names, but I was feeling experiential with this one.
> 
> Title is lyrics from She Heals Everything by GHOST DATA

Dracula stared up at the portrait on the wall of the castle library. It was placed near the window, where brilliant beams of moonlight played across it through gauzy curtains, shadows dancing in an almost ethereal way. Unlike most of the paintings in the castle, it wasn't anything grandiose. It was a small canvas, about the size of a medicine cabinet mirror, in a simple bronze frame. He was sure that the main person in it couldn't sit still long enough for anything larger to be painted. The bronze was starting to tarnish and turn turquoise, and Dracula ran his fingers across the vibrant streaks of color. He could almost feel a warm hand on his hip and a voice softly explaining why the metal was changing.

He turned away from the painting because he heard his guest from the moment they burst through the doors. A skeleton warrior rattled up to him. With frantic clacking and gestures, they let him know that vampire hunters broke into the castle and were making their way to the throne room. He gave them a nod and sent them on their way. With one last wistful glance at the soft smiles of the people in the painting, he shook off thoughts of the past. Both of those men were long dead, and he had something to attend to. He swept his cloak around himself and teleported away.

When he arrived in the throne room, he could already hear the sounds of battle ringing throughout the castle. Fighting was something he used to live and die for, and he felt his pulse pick up the slightest bit out of battle instinct honed over the centuries. A long time ago, before any of this, when he was just a person called Graphite, he lived for the excitement of weapons clashing, matching opponents blow for blow and every move possibly being his last. He loved it so much he made a deal with Death to be able to experience the thrill of combat for eternity. But that was ancient history, he'd driven Death away in his grief, and Graphite wasn't the man who stood here today.

He took a deep breath to settle his pulse and conjured a wine glass filled with blood to his hand. The humans that came to the castle looking for a fight were often fans of dramatics, so he'd play the part. It gave him at least some purpose to life. Then, he sat down in his throne, awaiting the hunters' arrival. He continued listening to the clash of weapons and faint battle cries echoing down the halls, growing ever closer. Something in his blood sang with the anticipation for battle, but every other part of him couldn't be more disinterested.

He sighed and settled deeper into his chair. Now everything seemed routine. Any minute now, the group of adventurers would burst through the doors and give some dramatic speech he was supposed to remark back on. And then they'd fight, and his heart wouldn't be in it. Sometimes he'd get a fun explorer that would try to start a speech and suddenly swing their weapon at him, or just charge him without a plan. It was adorable in a way; they thought they had an original idea and didn't even consider he'd taken out thousands of similar adventurers over the years.

No matter what, the outcome was one of two. He'd slaughter them all, or if the Vampire Killer whip had reappeared, he'd get slain. After a decade or so, he'd just be brought back by a cult or some other group looking to use him for evil purposes or an apocalypse.

A group of humans burst through the doors, brandishing weapons of all kinds. He counted four, and among them, one of the humans was holding Vampire Killer. He sat up straighter in his throne, hoping that this time the wielder was strong enough to put him down for good. Now that his interest was piqued, he observed the human who had the whip in his hand.

He was scrawny looking, mostly covered in leather armor. And he was young. He couldn't be more than 20, and probably naive beyond belief. It was most likely there was a prophecy surrounding the whip this time around, and he was part of some fated bloodline or, more likely, had tripped into a ceremony and accidentally ended up the "chosen one."

He had a spark in his eyes that reminded him of someone long dead. Dracula scowled at the memories of eyes with deep, tired shadows under them but glittering with mischief and wit. And when those eyes were given a challenge, a determined fire would roar to life in them.

Brushing the ghosts of that person away, Dracula settled in. This boy would probably make some big speech he'd have to sit through. But as he approached the throne, he wound Vampire Killer up and tucked it back into his belt. The others looked at him hesitantly but put their weapons away as well. What were they planning?

"Dracula! We've come to ask a favor of you." He declared.

Now, this was a first. The assumed leader of the group was actually trying to negotiate with him. He was making some big speech about humanity and monsters coexisting that Dracula was only half paying attention to.

Hah, humanity. Dracula knew humanity. Any negotiations or alliances would be eventually lost to time, and the hatred towards creatures like Dracula and his people would begin anew. Humans were nothing but liars. Even the best of them.

Phantom memories of an easy grin and warm fingers tangled in his own as they walked down the streets of a night market sent a crawling feeling down the back of his neck. He gripped the arm of his throne tightly, warping the metal as the human continued, a bit more nervously now.

"We've noticed that recently when you are resurrected, you've been targeting people in positions of power. Usually corrupt people. You've actually been doing a lot of good. So, we've come to proposition you to join us." Vampire Killer's current owner gave him a hopeful smile.

"Why? You're all the same to me. Just squirming, writhing maggots. I don't think it matters who I kill."

"For the good of humanity. There must be some in you, because I've heard rumors that you were also human, once."

"Good of humanity. Ha. What a farce." He sneered. "If my actions are helping you, then why don't you just let me be."

The boy continued staring at him with a determined look, but Dracula elected to not answer to his last statement. He had never been human. Just because he once walked among men didn't mean he was one of them. And killing those corrupt or in power had nothing to do with him caring. They were usually the ones who sought him out and were the most irritating to deal with, so they went first. If Dracula decided not to kill innocents until he deemed them guilty through his own twisted sense of justice because his brain was seared with the images of disappointed looks and sad smiles, that wasn't because he cared about humans.

Vampire Killer's owner shrugged a little. "I thought it would be better to work together. Things are better with friends. Or I guess in our case, tenuous allies if you agree."

Dracula's face remained stoic. He raised an eyebrow to see if they were going to offer up any other reasons. And when they didn't, he leaned back, unimpressed. The last human "friend" Dracula had made ended up ripping his heart out as he left. If he had just told him... No matter, it was the past. But these humans were going to have to come up with something spectacular to move him.

The group of humans seemed to be done trying to talk. They whispered among themselves about how it was a waste of time to try to convince him, and probably for the best. Even their leader was looking at him disappointedly as his friends chattered on behind him. He rolled his eyes. Of course. If things didn't go their way, they'd just take what they wanted by force.

"What happened to you?" The leader tried once more. "You talk like you have no soul. I heard legends of Dracula being a great leader once. A great man—"

"What is a man?" Dracula stood suddenly, flinging his wine glass at their feet, the faded image of a man he once loved in his thoughts as he said his next words. "A miserable little pile of secrets!"


End file.
